Ever since Denmark had left three days ago, Iceland had been up around the clock studying the books of the four previous years that he had borrowed off of Hermione (who was thrilled to finally meet another book enthusiast [surprising advantages of not having to manage a military 101]). After being up for sixty hours straight, he had finally decided to lay off the books long enough to get some sleep (more like Mrs. Weasley demanded he stop studying, Iceland was pretty sure even Hermione was starting to get worried about his study habits). As his head rested on the pillow he knew this rest was going to be supreme bliss. No Norway, no Finland, no Sweden, no Denmark breaking down his front door because he was asleep and didn't hear the doorbell.
"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEY'S FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOU SKINS FROM DEMENTORS?"
Fucking heads were gonna roll.
Iceland didn't know who was shouting, but they were either drunk or very self-centered, because no mater how bad you have it, someone else always has it worse. As he attempted to calmly walk down the stairs (he couldn't quite keep off the murderous glare, but it was close enough), the person whose screeching had woke him up continued.
"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME! BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYON BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?" Because Dumbledore made them promise not to tell anybody. Idiot. "CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—"
"Well, he did—" in all honesty, Iceland probably opened the door at the worst time possible. Some black haired kid was yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs at Ron and Hermione, who looked like she was ready to start sobbing.
"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN—" the kid was cut off with a solid whack to the head (trademark), courtesy of Iceland.
"Are you done yet?" Iceland asked darkly. The black haired kid turned around to glare at Iceland, and looked ready to start screeching at him, "Some of us are trying to sleep." When the kid opened his mouth, Iceland 'calmly' stuck his hand over the other kids mouth (he didn't need to worry about his hand getting germs on them or anything, he wears gloves everywhere [like Elsa!]). "A persons worth is not dependent on how many dangerous situations they have been in, it's measured differently for each person. Hermione is definitely smarter than you, and Ron clearly has more strategic and tactical skill than you will ever have. All you have is your horrendous voice and luck." As he removed his hand from the kids mouth (who was speechless. Surprise.), he handed a handkerchief to Hermione, who was crying on the floor with Ron trying (and failing) to comfort her. "Now," Iceland started, "can I go back to sleep or this Screech-Fest 1995?" The black haired kid sputtered indignantly. "I'll take that as a yes," Iceland said (sassily, of course [deep down you know Iceland is a sass machine]), and walked away muttering under his breath, "Árans fáviti, vekjandi mig frá mínum verð..."
Before Iceland could even get to the stairs, he was disturbed by a loud CRACK! that sounded like it was from the room he had just come from.
"HVAÐ Í FJANDANUM!" Iceland spun around and stomped back to the room with the screecher in it, kicking the door in as he yelled, "HVAÐ Í ÓSKÖPUNUM ERUÐ ÞIÐ TVEIR AÐ GERA!" Fred and George just gave him a dazzling smile and waved, acting as if a tiny Icelandic boy had not just kicked an old wooden door off of it's hinges screaming at them in the tongue of the vikings. After Iceland came in through the tatters of the door, a long mane of red hair appeared.
"Oh hello, Emil, Harry!" said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. "I though I heard your voices."
Turning to Fred and George she said, "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."
"How'd you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.
"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."
Fred heaved a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."
"Can't you use a Perturbable Charm to reverse the effects of an Imperturbable?" Iceland asked, wanting to know what was going on (being a nation, he was very used to being in on everything in government matters and it irritated him to no end when he didn't know something). Hermione shook her head.
"A Perturbable Charm only works if it's used by an extremely powerful wizard or the person who cast the Imperturbable Charm in the first place casts it."
"Snape?" Harry asked quickly, jumping in to get answers. "Is he here?"
"Yeah," said George, carefully Reparoed the door and closed it and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. Iceland just flopped onto one, and decided to stay awake because dinner would be soon anyways, plus he wanted to hear this. "Giving a report. Top secret."
"Git," said Fred idly. Iceland snorted.
"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.
Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him from being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us..."
"Isn't he the one who looks like an emo forty year old man who doesn't wash his hair, and looks at us as if we killed his mother?" Iceland asked, not opening his eyes. The Weasly's burst out laughing, and Hermione giggled a little. Iceland was pretty sure even Harry would have cracked a smile.
"Yeah, that's him," Ginny said before turning to Hermione. "Bill doesn't like him either," she said, as though that settled the matter.
"Is Bill here?" Harry asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt."
"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred (Iceland snickered to himself. It rhymed). "He says he misses the tombs, but there are compensations..." Iceland cracked a smile, knowing what they were talking about (he paid attention to the others at meals, and Fred and George would read Bill's letters out loud. It wasn't quite Shakespeare's love sonnets to his boyfriend, but they were quiet amusing to say the least).
"What d'you mean?"
"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish—"
"— and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred. Iceland snorted.
"Charlie's in the Order too," said George, "but he's still in Romania," 'Romania is definitely a vampire, no matter what Norge tells me,' Iceland thought, "Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."
"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. Iceland tensed. He had only been there a couple of days, but he could tell it was a taboo subject around Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.
"Why not?"
"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.
"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.
"I think we're well shut of him," said George.
"What's happened?" Harry said.
"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred (Iceland would have snorted if the situation wasn't so depressing. Saying that it was a row [from what he had seen from the Weasly's reactions to his name] was like saying his Katla eruptions slightly damaging. Okay, not quite that much of an understatement, but you get the idea). "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts..." Iceland was listening, not having been told the story yet/
"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."
"You're kidding?" said Harry.
"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain..."
"So how come they promoted him?" Iceland asked from his bed, beating Harry to the question. There was a pause, since everybody had forgotten he was there anyways (strangely reminiscent of the world meetings, though Canada definitely had it worse [he wouldn't forget a child he had raised for years]).
"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation now that Harry and Emil had stopped yelling. "He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased that usual if you can believe that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."
"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.
"Why not?" said Harry.
"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.
"Dumbledore's name's mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."
"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.
"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always though Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his muggle obsession —"
"But what's this got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused. Iceland (who was now sitting up on the bed and resting his head on his knees) gave him a weird look. Wasn't it obvious?
"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore."
Harry let out a low whistle.
"Bet Percy loved that."
Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.
"He went completely berserk. He said — well he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —"
"What?" said Iceland in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry puffin.
"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."
Iceland swore under his breath. He might not always like the other Nordics, but they were his family and always there for him no matter what. He couldn't believe this Percy kid would choose the government over his family!
"Mum's been in a right state," said Ron dully. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s'pose."
"But Percy must know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know you mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof —"
"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and... I dunno... he didn't think it was good enough."
"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione tartly, and all the others nodded.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.
"Haven't — haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked nervously.
"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.
"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione asked still more anxiously.
"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?"
The others (minus Iceland, nobody really ever noticed his country so he didn't have to worry about some random dark lord. He didn't really like English cooking anyways, so it wasn't really his problem) flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it, but they — um — they mention you a couple of times a week."
"But I'd have seen —"
"Not if you've only been reading the front page you wouldn't," Iceland piped up, taking the words out of Hermione's mouth, who continued where he left off.
"I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."
"What d'you —?"
"It's quite nasty actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. "They're just building on Rita's stuff." Iceland wanted to ask who exactly 'Rita' was, but he felt it wasn't the time.
"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?"
"Oh no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."
"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently.
"Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying that your scar was hurting and all that?"
"Yeah," said Harry.
"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something," said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear those facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's 'let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next —"
"Ú, grimmt," Iceland muttered.
"I don't want anyone to worship —" Harry began hotly.
"I know you don't," said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to to think you're just dome stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."
"I didn't ask — I didn't want — Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry spluttered ('No, really?' Iceland found himself thinking, even though he knew it was not the time). "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it's never —"
"We know, Harry," said Ginny earnestly.
"And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really bug story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy — we though they would, it would tie in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off — we think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town — I mean, if you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily, "you really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."
"Uh-oh"
Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.
"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone's dying to see you, Harry," Iceland was out the door as soon as she had mentioned 'dinner'. He was starving, having paid more attention to his books and the Black Family Library in the previous days.
Iceland shoved his way through the crowd of Order members (who didn't even notice him [what was new there]), stopping just before the kitchen door as a glint he hadn't noticed before caught his eye. Stepping towards a thin table underneath a large old curtain, he tentatively wrapped his hand around a chain hanging out of an old silver goblet with the complex Black crest being the only thing that marred the gleam of the cup. Lifting the necklace from the silver, Iceland barely contained a gasp at the beautiful work that was before him.
Off of the chain hung three cylinders of Iceland Spar, of varying length. On the left one, copper vines wrapped around the crystal, the detail so fine Iceland could see the veins in the leaves. The vines spread into roots at the bottom, creating a cap at the bottom of the piece. When he checked, Iceland was shocked to see an old galdrastafir inscribed on the bottom (he could tell that it was one of the oldest, it was asymmetrical). 'Að fela eitthvað,' he thought.
The right one had a silver frost pattern, thin lines that ran along the crystal and condensed into snow at the base, having a similar effect as the vines. Having seen the galdrastafir on the previous one, he was sure there would be another Icelandic rune on this one. It was a symmetrical (it had some of the most Christian influence out of the staves) this time. '(Á) Móti öllum galdri.'
The center piece was the longest crystal, a thin golden dragon spiraling around it, minuscule soldiers around the base waved spears and axes at the majestic beast. On the base of the jewel, there was a pile of fallen vikings and one last stave upon the bodies of the dead. It was a lukkustafir, a good luck stave. 'Sá sem ber þessa stafi á sér mun ekki mæta óhappi hvorki á hafi né landi.'
CRASH.
Iceland flinched, drawn from his stupor by the loud sound. "Tonks!" cried Mrs. Weasly exasperatedly. Iceland ignored Tonks desperate apologies, noticing the Order members he had forced his way through earlier had all left. Any further thoughts on the situation Iceland had were cut off by a horrible, earsplitting, bloodcurdling screech.
The moth-eaten velvet curtains above the stand Iceland was standing at flew apart. For a split second, Iceland thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she was being tortured — then he realized it was simply a life-size portrait, but one of the most realistic, and the one of the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his long life.
The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind him, the other portraits awoke and began to yell too.
Lupin and Iceland darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close (disadvantages to not having an army 501) and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.
"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness!" Iceland for some reason decided it would be a good idea to try and yell back at her (in Icelandic, for some reason), abandoning his side of the curtain to face the portrait and yell.
"HAFÐU HLJÓTT BRJÁLÆÐA KERLING!" The portrait glared at him and continued screeching (a screaming match with an old woman inside of a portrait. Not something Iceland thought he'd ever do). Iceland continued yelling in Icelandic, being much louder than the portrait (he was used to yelling over the other Nordics).
"GAMLA NORN, HVAÐA RÉTT HEFUR ÞÚ AÐ MÓÐGA ANNAÐ FÓLK, ANDLITSLJÓTA!" Iceland screeched back at the portrait, until he noticed a new voice had joined the real Screech-Fest 1995.
"I said — shut — UP!" Sirius roared, and with stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.
The old woman's screeches dies and an echoing silence fell.
Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Sirius turned to face the kid who was no longer the champion of the Screech-Fest.
"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."
Author's Note
I would like to thank everybody who has followed, reviewed and favorited this story. It truly means a lot to me, thank you :)
Árans fáviti, vekjandi mig frá mínum verð = Fucking asshole, waking me up from my well... (deserved nap, but its a trail off so what ever)
HAVÐ Í FJANDANUM = WHAT THE HELL
HVAÐ Í ÓSKÖPUNUM ERUÐ ÞIÐ TVEIR AÐ GERA = WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING
Ú, grimmt = Oh, cruel
Að fela eitthvað = To hide something
Á Móti öllum galdri = Against all magic
Sá sem ber þessa stafi á sér mun ekki mæta óhappi hvorki á hafi né landi= Whosoever bears these staves on him will not meet with mishaps on sea and land
HAFÐU HLJÓTT BRJÁLÆÐA KERLING! = BE QUIET CRAZY WOMAN
GAMLA NORN, HVAÐA RÉTT HEFUR ÞÚ AÐ MÓÐGA ANNAÐ FÓLK, ANDLITSLJÓTA! = YOU OLD WITCH, WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO OFFEND OTHERS, UGLY FACE!
I wrote this in, like, eight hours (half of which was spent staring blankly at the wall in front of me), so this was slightly rushed and probably has a lot of mistakes. I'll probably edit this more and fix some (a lot) things and add more Iceland in there soon.
Side note: A galdrastafir (according to what I could find on the internet) is an Icelandic magical stave, apparently used in the time of the vikings even though they were recorded and written down after the viking age (therefore heavily influenced by Christianity). If you Google 'galdrastafir', the first thing that shows up is a research paper, where I got most of my information for the runes. If you would like to learn more on the Icelandic magical staves, please go there :)
I'm going to be in Washington D.C. for a while, so I probably won't update this for like a week (my laptop is really old and heavy [plus the battery doesn't work, so if I can't use my charger I can't work], so it just isn't worth bringing).